


Red Letter Days

by dragoneggos



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Magic, Pining, Scones, Slow Burn, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Watford (Simon Snow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27211681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoneggos/pseuds/dragoneggos
Summary: On the first day of Watford, Baz Pitch found his soulmate. The world exploded into colour and magic- but he found himself more alone than before.Soulmate magic is unpredictable, but can Simon crack the code (with Penny's help, of course)?Will Simon ever figure out who his soulmate is? And will Baz ever learn to live with the truth?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 143





	Red Letter Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper fic, so I'd love to hear what people think!  
> Inspired heavily by the many other Snowbaz soulmate AUs :)  
> Thank you for reading!

**BAZ**

As a child, I always wondered what it would be like to see the world differently. To see it alive in the vibrancy and wonder I know it was for my father and mother. But after she died, I stopped wondering.

I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing that wonder. It may be impossible to imagine colour, but it’s even more impossible to imagine losing it. It’s indescribable, that’s what they say. I decided I didn’t want a soulmate. I didn’t want someone to have the power to create such magic, and then rip it away from me out of spite. That was unfair. My mother didn’t choose to die, but it was easier to blame her than to face the reality of what happened in the nursery.

My father didn’t talk for months. Didn’t move. Barely left his bedroom. I skulked around the house noiselessly, wondering how I’d managed to lose my mother and my father on the same day.

“He’s lost it Basil.” Fiona was the only one that attempted to explain it to me, that Christmas Day, as I clutched Paddington and held back my tears- like a man, my father would say. I’d cocked my head slightly at her, already unable to admit my own confusion.

“With your mother, he lost everything,” she whispered into her mug of what I was meant to believe was coffee, but smelt a lot more like Father’s special bottles. I nodded like I knew what that meant. But all I knew was the wonder was gone. The smell of empty magic remained, but my father refused to cast again for a long time.

Things got easier, when he met Daphne. The beauty didn’t return, but I think the colour seeped into the edges. That can happen, sometimes.

I was adamant it wouldn’t happen to me though. Soulmates are rare anyway, as Fiona constantly reminded me (though she stubbornly and completely refused to discuss her own mysterious colour coordination), and I didn’t want to end up like my father. Completely reliant on another person. I was Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Independent. I’d lost everything when my mother died too. I’d lost my humanity. And I didn’t need another person.

**SIMON**

I didn’t even know soulmates were a _thing_ until third year. I was laying on the grass, in the shade of a tree with Penny, my hands behind my head, not thinking about school ending in three weeks. I’m good at not thinking about things, and it came in useful when I just wanted to enjoy the moment, bask in the few rays of sun Watford provided.

“It’s not him.” Penny had whispered suddenly, almost as if she was afraid of admitting something.

“What?” I’d propped myself up on my arm to get a better look at her. She had her eyes closed and her breathing was too even to be natural. Even I could tell she was holding back emotion.

“Micah. He’s not my soulmate.” I stared at her in confusion. We were only 14, and she was worrying about finding the love of her life? I knew Penny was a planner, but that seemed ridiculous even to me.

“Pen, we’re only third years, we have time. Besides, you love Micah, how do you know he _isn’t_ your ‘soulmate’?” I’d offered unhelpfully. I was often out of my depth with Penny, I still am. It’s not like we had the same upbringing.

“I don’t see it Simon,” she sat up then, to look at me, “the wonder, the magic, the colour. Everything is still varying shades of grey, grey and more grey. We haven’t spoken about it but I know it’s the same for him. And I know soulmates are rare, but I was hoping to have _something_ with him, just a touch of colour maybe, like my parents. But nothing.” Her eyes blazed as she talked, whilst my head swam in confusion, trying to keep up with her. I must have been staring at her blankly, because she spoke up again,

“Simon please tell me you know what I’m talking about?” I stared at her some more, shaking my head slightly, still trying to process what she’d just said. She sighed, and adjusted her glasses on her face (I hated feeling like I’d disappointed her) before explaining,

“Two hundred years ago, a very powerful mage believed they’d found true love, a love stronger than what he’d read about and heard described. He wanted to know if he could use it to power his magic. But he was colour-blind. So, he tried to harness his love for his wife to try to give him full vision. Only, he underestimated his power, and instead cast a spell, leaving the whole world of mages colour-blind, until they find their true soulmate and their world will fill with beauty, as with him. True soulmates are rare though, and very few people can see in total colour. But I’d give anything, to see even a touch of colour, or _something_ so I know I’m not… alone in the world.” She looked up as she finished, likely thinking about Micah. Meanwhile, I was busy coping with the fact I had apparently already met the love of my life.

“You mean… no mage sees any colour until they’ve found their… soulmate?” I asked slowly. Penny was used to having to expand her explanations for me, luckily.

“Yep, that’s the only way,” she looked at me sideways, “Wait, Simon- can you see in colour?”

Could I? I mean I must. It was exactly how Penny had described it. Only…

“But I can’t have a soulmate.”

“You don’t remember touching someone, and watching the whole world come alive? I wouldn’t have thought that was something you could forget Simon.”

“It was the first day at Watford Penny, I was surrounded by wonder and magic for the first time. Everything was amazing. I just assumed it was the magic of Watford that gave me my vision, that gave everyone their vision,” I looked down, embarrassed. I still felt desperately out of place in the World of Mages, no matter how many times I was praised for being ‘the chosen one’. Baz was right, I was the worst chosen one to ever have been chosen. All I did was wave my sword around a bit, and fuck things up.

It didn’t help that the Mage had introduced me to what must have been thousands of people that day, there’s no way I could pinpoint a specific moment of an explosion of wonder. The whole day was an explosion of wonder.

“So, it must be someone here! Don’t you want to find out who it is Si? It must be strong, if you can see in complete colour!” Penny got excited, as I envisioned the countless library trips she would drag me on in an attempt to learn as much as possible about soulmates. Like she didn’t already know it all.

“I don’t know Pen, I guess? It must just be Agatha,” I decided. I wanted it to be Agatha. And why shouldn’t it be Agatha? We’d been going out for a little while now, and it had been going well. We’d shaken hands on the first day. It could very well be Agatha.

Penny looked uncomfortable at this suggestion, but she offered nothing else. Just laid back down and began questioning me on the varying shades of green. As if colour was something you could learn or understand. I tried my best though, because she would have done the same to me, though I don’t think she was ever particularly satisfied with my answers. I stopped thinking about soulmates much after that. I stopped thinking much at all after that. Just carried on with Agatha, because that made sense. Because that was something I didn’t have to think about.

**BAZ**

All the first years were gathered on the field, already in nervous little groups. I remember standing off to the side, with Dev, my hands in my pockets, trying to act tough and cool. Like I was too good for their silly little dramas. When in reality, my eyes were following the Mage as he dragged a small boy, with perfectly maddening curls, around with him. The Mage’s Heir. I’d already been briefed by Fiona and my father on him. On how one day, I was destined to kill him. It intrigued me, honestly, I think I was too young to grasp the reality of that situation. Or maybe I just didn’t care yet. Couldn’t care yet.

They had rounded us all up together, just as the sky began to darken, shades of grey beginning to melt into one. The Mageling stood to the side, his magic already too much for many of the other students to handle. Already, Bunce was at his side, claiming him as her own, nattering on about something in his ear, frizzy hair flapping in the slight breeze, though his eyes were unfocused, mesmerised by magic.

Other students started fumbling and grasping, as the Crucible took its power over them, forcing them towards their perfect match of a roommate. Dev rather ungraciously fell his way over to a short nervous boy, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the company I knew I would be keeping for the next eight years. But I was trying desperately to ignore my own pull in my chest, trying to keep my composure. Merlin and Morgana, I was a Pitch, I was not about to be overpowered by the _Crucible_ on my first day at Watford. But there was something else. Something stronger in my chest pulling me towards someone, that I didn’t understand, but made my head want to run away even more.

I walked slowly though, with all the energy I could muster, and almost had The Chosen One bump straight into me, with the desperation driving him ungraciously towards me. He’d made absolutely no attempt to resist the Crucible’s (and whatever else’s) pull, as he thrust his arm out towards me frantically. Of bloody course the _Mage’s Heir_ would be my roommate. Because God hated me, apparently. At least Fiona would get a kick out of it.

“Hi,” he was out of breath already, ridiculous, “I’m Simon Snow.” He didn’t need to introduce himself; the entire World of Mages already knew his name. Slowly, sneering slightly (I’d worked all summer to perfect it), I raised my hand up to meet his, only to cure the growing burning ache in my stomach (and my heart?).

“Basil Pitch.”

And then the world was on fire.

Bright lights exploded in front of me, and I tried not to flinch as beauty swarmed my vision, blinded me, recentred my universe. All I could see was golden curls. Blue eyes. Freckles speckled across pale skin. The Earth no longer orbited the sun. It orbited _him_.

I turned away from him- Snow- Simon- as quickly as I could: I couldn’t let him see the panic and wonder undoubtedly about to give me away in my eyes. I saw his face fall though, briefly, but he soon bounded towards Bunce again, accompanied by who I assumed to be a Wellbelove. Leaving me alone. Staring at the brilliant amber sky.

I tried to ignore it for years. Which is hard to do when you’re trapped in a room with those fucking curls every night. Told myself it was a fluke, a mistake, that I must have touched someone else earlier in the day, that it was a delayed reaction to a girl, a nice normal girl that my father would approve of. It wasn’t until fifth year that I had to give up and accept it. Accept that I was in love with Simon Snow. That he was my soulmate.

But that I wasn’t his.

**SIMON**

I feel jumpy in my seat the whole train ride to Watford. I watch the world whirl past through the carriage window, my hand pressed slightly to the glass. I know I’m getting weird looks from the other passengers, but I simply don’t care.

All summer long, I have an ache in my chest. Like even my _heart_ misses magic, misses Watford, and it’s only ever healed when I’m back in my room (I say my room, I try not to think about the sharing with Baz part) back surrounded by everything I love again. I tried explaining this to Penny once, but I don’t think she got it, because she’s always been surrounded by magic. For her, magic is like breathing. Since I can barely manipulate my own magic, other people’s is the best thing I can get.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m done with eighth year. The idea of not being at Watford anymore is disturbing. I suppose the Mage has something planned out for me. I could probably ask, but I don’t really care. It’s not like it’s up to me. And I’ll always do what’s expected, in the end. Or I’ll at least, I’ll try to.

But as the train pulls into the station, I don’t feel any easier.

Or when I reach the Watford gates.

Or when I reach Mummer’s House.

Or even when I reach my room.

It’s like something about Watford is… off. I guess it might be me and Agatha. I’m not really sure where we stand anymore. Penny would tell me to talk to her. Penny’s usually right. But it doesn’t matter anyway. Agatha’s my _soulmate_ \- there’s nothing that can break through a bond like that, all the books promise (or at least, Penny promised).

I try to breathe in the fresh air spilling to the room at least, and try to enjoy the peace and quiet while Baz is gone. It always feels weird to be in there without him. A good weird though. I can keep the windows open. And leave things on the floor. A breeze suddenly swirls through the room, bringing with it the smell of at least three different people’s magic. Yeah, a good weird.

I try my best to avoid Agatha during the Welcome Ceremony, but she finds me laying out on the grass with Penny, I guess I wasn’t being exactly subtle. If only Baz had been so easy to locate in fifth year.

“Simon. Can we talk?” She sounds nervous, wringing her hands together and trying not to make eye contact. I look over to Penny in panic, and she nods at me, granting me silent permission, because apparently the great Chosen One can’t do anything without consulting his best friend first. Honestly, the Mage should just use her to save the world. She’s a much better mage than I’ll ever be.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I brush off the mud from sitting on the ground (Penny would probably cast **“Clean as a Whistle!”** but I’d probably just turn myself into a whistle, or something equally as useless) and go to follow her. We end up standing across the field, away from all the crowds, in the shade. There’s an awkward silence which I feel a need to fill,

“So how was your summer?” I ask, deciding the best route to take is to pretend that everything is normal and fine, and that she’s just pulled me over here to catch up as a couple.

“It was-” she breathes out a long sigh, as if even this question is too much for her. “Look Simon… I met someone. This summer. And they’re amazing and wonderful and a bit of, of _colour_ started seeping into the edges of the world and it wouldn’t be fair to leave you hanging like this.” It’s the most flustered I’ve ever seen her, which would be surprising enough in itself if it wasn’t for what she was saying.

“But, Aggie, Agatha. _I’m_ your soulmate. We’re meant to be together forever. You don’t get two.” At least, I didn’t think you did, I hadn’t read enough (any) books to completely confirm that.

She stares at me blankly.

“Simon. We’re not soulmates.” And my whole world comes crashing down.

“What? Of course we are! Didn’t you feel it from that first day, in first year? Agatha, we’re perfect for each other! We make sense in a world that doesn’t. You’re the only normal thing I’ve got!”

“And that’s the problem Simon. Love shouldn’t feel normal!” She'sclose to shouting now, “It shouldn’t make sense! You love me because you think you should! Because you think that’s what people want, what people expect from you. And I’m sick of being that for you Simon. I’m sick of being ‘the girlfriend of the Chosen One’.”

“You know you’re more than that-”

“Am I? Because it’s always been Penelope you run to. Basil that you stalk. The Mage you worship. It’s never me Simon. I’m never the first person you think about. Ever.”

I choose to ignore her mention to Baz, which makes zero sense in the context, and go onto more pressing evidence, “But the colour Agatha. You must be my soulmate. Or else why would I see such blinding, strong colour?”

She stares at me for another long moment, her face slowly morphing from anger to pity.

“I don’t know Simon. All I know is before this summer, I never knew what magic felt like.”

And then she walks away. Leaving me standing at the edge of the field, with no answers, no girlfriend, and no soulmate.

**PENELOPE**

When Simon comes trudging back from across the field almost half an hour later, hands in his pockets and alone, I know it isn’t going to be good news. I mean, truth be told I knew it wouldn’t be good news when Agatha asked to talk to him but I’d _hoped_. That’s all I’ve ever done for their relationship, even though I think I know the truth, the inevitable.

He collapses on the ground in front me, looking down. I’m about to say something, anything, when I hear a faint mumbling.

“What was that?” I ask, leaning towards him. I still can’t hear him though, and he doesn’t seem at all willing to raise his voice, so I’m forced to cast **“Speak up!”** on him. I know he won’t mind though. Simon can never get angry at magic (except Baz’s magic, which he claims even smells like evil).

“She dumped me.” I finally hear him say.

“Oh, Simon I-”

“Did you know?” I can hear him perfectly fine now, and it’s not just the spell.

“Know what?” There are probably a few things I know about Agatha that Simon doesn’t, despite our second year promises to tell each other everything. Nothing inherently _bad_ , just things I thought it would be of no good for him to know about his shining angel girlfriend.

“About the soulmate thing. About how I’m not, not. Not hers?” Ah. In fairness to me I didn’t technically know this. I’d suspected it, since Simon told me about his soulmate, as I feel something as bright as he’d described would be something even Agatha would share with me, her one magical girlfriend. But, after years of them dating, I sort of assumed they’d figured it out? That they’d talked about it and worked it out between them, soulmates or not. I mean, Crowley, why would they stay together otherwise?

“You knew.” Simon starts when I don’t say anything. “Dammit Penny! How could you?”

“I didn’t know, Simon, if I’d known I would have told you, you know that.” I try to stay calm and reasonable; I’ve dealt with Simon going off enough times to know it isn’t the best idea to rile him up. Especially not with so many first years nearby.

He sighs, like he’s weighing up his options.

“Yeah, yeah Pen I know.” He slumps, physically, emotionally, “I just feel so stupid, you know? I got so caught up, imagining Agatha as my future, that I forgot to even check if she was my right now.”

I know how he feels I really do. It’s the same thing I felt with Micah. The desperate, utter longing for this to be right, for this to be everything, but knowing it isn’t, that no matter how hard you try it never will be. We still speak occasionally. I think he has a Normal girlfriend.

“And, it just sucks, because now I’m part of the, like, one percent with an unrequited soulmate. And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life missing her Penny.” He pulls an arm over his face as he leans back, lying down completely on the grass, his face a lighter shade in the sun’s rays.

“I mean, you don’t know she’s your soulmate, Simon.” I feel like I have a lot of ‘teaching moments’ as Simon Snow’s best friend, which might not be a good thing in the long run for the saviour of the magickal world, but I’m certainly not about to stop.

“What do you mean? Of course it’s her, it’s always been her. Who else could it even be?” his voice softens as he gets to the end, and my heart aches for him.

“Any of the other hundreds of students you touched that day?”

“That’s even more hopeless! How am I supposed to work out who my soulmate is, out of the whole of our year group!”

“I don’t know Si. But we’ve got the whole year to figure it out.” I lay down next to him, my head touching his, in a silent vow of reassurance.

**SIMON**

Baz still isn’t back.

We’re three days into the term and he isn’t here. Penny thinks I have bigger things to worry about, which I suppose is true, but we don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. He could be plotting! (I tried saying this to Penny, but she just walked away).

It’s not that I like spending all my time thinking about Baz, it’s just that the Mage told me to “Be on your guard Simon!” whatever that means, and I think this could be helpful information. I tried asking him where Baz was as well, but he just brushed me away, saying we had more important things to focus on.

And that’s just the thing. It seems everyone has something important for me to be doing, each more important than the last, and no one seems to be taking what I want into account (not that many people ever have). And since Agatha broke up with me, I can’t seem to focus on anything important. The only fucking thing I thing I’m able to focus on is Baz.

“Simon. Simon!” I jerk my head up as Penny whisper shouts at me. I’ve fallen asleep in Latin. Again. It’s a dead language, I don’t know why they’re so set on me learning it, it’s not like it’s ever helped any of my shitshow spells.

“Again Simon?” I hate to have disappointed Penny though, she spends a lot of her time tutoring me to pass Latin (and Greek. And most of my subjects) and I don’t want to make her job even harder. It’s just so hard to focus when I’m not sleeping. I keep lying awake, ready for Baz to come in. To challenge me to a fight or something, I’m worried he’ll attack me in my sleep, come after me when I least expect it.

Part of me wants him to.

I shake the thought away, and try to focus on Penny’s notes (she’s good like that, lets me share her stuff).

Weeks go by like this, and the ache in my chest I get from missing Watford hasn’t gone away. I blame it on Agatha, who I catch every now and then texting and smiling into her (contraband) phone. I could report her to the Mage. I won’t.

I’m lying in bed, alone, one night in early October when it happens. I’m lying awake, another hopeless sleepless night, waiting for something to happen. At first, I think Baz is back, and has snuck back into our room through the window, like a bat (I don’t know why he would have to sneak, but to my sleep deprived brain, this seemed to make perfect sense for my vampire roommate) and I’m halfway through calling my sword when I notice it’s a woman. But nonetheless, a woman that looks awfully like Baz.

“You’re not my son.” She whispers in her ethereal voice, sending shivers down my spine. I struggle to find words (I struggle to find words at the best of times, let alone when someone from beyond is visiting me- Baz would have a fit if he saw how I was stuttering) but she continues speaking like I’m not even there.

“No, but you’re tied to him. Your hearts are connected.” Does she mean through the Crucible? I didn’t know Crucible magic was that strong, but then again, I don’t know much about Crucible magic.

Woman-Baz (who I now realise must be Headmistress Pitch- Baz’s mum) looks down at me, her face filling with-love?

"You’re not him, but yes, you will do. Tell him. Tell him my killer walks. That Nico knows. To avenge me, so I can rest in peace.” I’m bloody confused, but I nod seriously and try to remember everything she said, though I think this whole encounter with remain etched in my brain forever.

Then she leans down and strokes a stray curl out of my face.

“You will do. Yes, Basil will be pleased.” I shiver at the cold, but am filled with a sense of warmth, of right. And then she’s gone.

Where is Baz?

**BAZ**

Bronze curls. Blue eyes. Golden boy.

Deprivation of light is a harsh enough punishment for anyone. But depriving a sighted Mage of colour is downright agony. I laid stiff in that coffin for an eternity, the memories of Simon Snow the only thing keeping me alive. The pale red scar just above his right eyebrow that existed only for me to stare at. I was beginning to think I’d imagined him by the time Fiona arrived.

“Fucking numpties!” she’d screeched at me as she pulled me out from the numpty lair, and made sure I wasn’t dead (I felt dead, I mean more than usual). I couldn’t have cared less about her ranting, I was preoccupied with the fire red leaves hanging dangerously off the trees, the piles of dead orange lying like corpses across the ground, the sun reflecting perfectly on the water of the stream. Watching the seasons change is one of the few things I enjoy about having a soulmate. It feels like the universe has shared a secret with me, and I was pissed at having missed it. Especially the bronze tones autumn brings; there’s more than one reason September is my favourite month.

“Where’s that soulmate when you need him,” I heard Fiona mumble as she got into the car. She was the only one who knew about my soulmate (though not about Snow, no one knows about Snow). I let it slip in sixth year, when I was drunk and complaining about the colour suit Daphne had bought me that Christmas- burgundy, not at all flattering on my skin. I spent the whole of the holidays wondering how it would have looked on Snow.

“It’s not my soulmate’s responsibility to find me Fiona,” I snap back, getting in next to her.

“Not mine either, yet here we are. What do you think you’re doing?” Her head whips round to me.

I’m weary from the months I spent in a _literal coffin_ , and not up for Fiona’s lack of tact.

“Getting in the car?” I sigh, knowing this will be wrong, but not bothering to come up with something wittier, it would be wasted on Fiona anyway.

“Front seat’s for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties. Get in the back.” I stare at her for a second, not quite believing she’s serious but eventually just crawl into the backseat, too tired to argue, grumbling about curses I will try out on her later when I have my wand back.

All I want is to be back in our room in Mummer’s House. To stare at Snow while he sleeps (I’m pathetic) (And creepy). To see the way the early morning light makes his skin change. I press my head against the cool window and try to ignore Fiona’s ramblings, about war and magick and politics, and focus on awaiting wonder of Watford’s Golden Boy.

**SIMON**

I’m moping in the dining hall with Penny, a place and emotion that don’t usually go together for me. I’m staring at my scones and thinking about Baz. About how he’s plotting, probably. About his mum. About where the fuck he is.

I can feel Penny staring at me, and I know she wants to ask, but I also know she’s afraid to. I think she’s had enough of me talking about Baz, even though _his dead mum came to speak to me from beyond the grave._

“It’s impressive how you manage to talk about Baz even more when he’s not here,” she remarked to me a week ago, when we were studying outside, barely looking up from her book.

“Do you blame me Penny? We don’t know what he’s off doing!” I’d replied, defensively.

“You really think he’d miss coming back for eighth year when he knew the Veil was opening?” she’d said softly. And then I felt like a dick.

I stopped complaining to Penny after that, and mostly sat stewing, wondering what the fuck Baz was up to (if he really was up to anything). And that’s what I’m thinking about when the doors of the dining room crash open, and Baz stands there, non-plussed, magic blazing.

My instincts tell me he’s up to something. I feel my magic and anger bubble up inside me, mixing together, and for the first time since the start of summer, it takes over the incurable ache in my chest.

I find myself standing too, though I’m not nearly as gracefully as he is with his own proud stride down the middle of the dining hall. He sneers at me as he passes me to reach Dev and Niall, and if I wasn’t so attuned to reading his face, I wouldn’t have noticed the twinge of pain that scrunched his eyebrows as he put pressure on his foot.

I want to punch the pain out of his face, I want to be the one making him feel. Feel like that.

He sits with his friends, barely even acknowledging me. I don’t know why, but this just irritates me more. I’ve spent all these weeks sitting up, waiting for him to attack, and now he won’t even speak to me?

Penny tugs hard on my arm, pulling me back down to my seat, back down to reality. From across the room, where she now sits alone, I see Agatha watching me, her head tilted as if in deep thought.

**BAZ**

Going back to our room again is more like coming home than my actual home ever was. It’s part of the reason I fought Fiona so hard on getting me back here as soon as I could. Part of the reason.

Snow’s in here when I get back up there after classes have finished, sitting upright on his bed staring a hole in the door. I’m surprised he didn’t actually set fire to the room with the unpredictable nature of his magic (would the Anathema protect me from that?). Knowing it will annoy him more than any cruel comment I could come up with (I’ve had eight years’ practice in annoying Snow, and a pounding headache right now preventing me from thinking of anything clever), I ignore his stares and make a beeline for the window, closing it. It’s hard enough having the skin temperature of a vampire without your idiot roommate insisting on having a constant breeze. It’s alright for him, with his alive warm skin. What would it feel like to fall asleep in those arms? (Did I mention I’m pathetic?).

“Where the fuck were you?” He usually doesn’t swear like a Normal in front of me- I bullied him mercilessly for it in first year- and honestly, it’s a nice surprise. Like a welcome home.

“Miss me did you Snow?” I’m tired and all I want in this moment is to crawl into my too small single bed, surround myself in the too thin Watford issued blankets, and fall asleep looking at my too straight roommate, soulmate.

“No, I- I-I-”

“Use your words.” It’s a low blow, but I know it will piss him off more than anything wittier. Sometimes it’s good to rely on the classics.

He almost growls at me, and I roll my eyes and make my way into the bathroom to change.

“Wait- I. I saw your mum.” I stop in the entrance to the bathroom.

“What did you just say Snow?”

**SIMON**

In fairness I meant to say it nicer. But he kept riling me up, and he was back and every second that went by where I didn’t tell him felt more excruciating than the last. Baz might be my worst enemy (except the Humdrum. Unless I’m the Humdrum) but this is different. If someone saw my mum, I’d want them to tell me. Even if it was Baz. Even if I don’t have a mum.

He’s staring at me now, and I vomit more words at him.

“It was a couple of weeks ago, maybe? Just before the Veil closed. I think, that’s what Penny told me anyway, and she knows more about these kinds of things than I do, I barely even knew about the Veil until a load of third years started getting Visitings in the dining hall.”

“Snow. Get to the point,” he says between gritted teeth, and I realise I’m rambling again.

“Right, yeah, sorry. She told me to tell you that her killer walks. That Nico knows, and to ask Nico. And she came back, later that night. Called you her rosebud boy.” I say the last bit quietly, it feels like something that should be said quietly, words that should be respected, like a spell.

“Merlin,” he breathes, and it occurs to me that Penny was probably right. That he wouldn’t have wanted to miss eighth year, wanted to have missed this.

“Where were you?” I blurt out, and it’s only after I’ve responded to the impulse that I realise now is definitely not the time to be grilling him about his whereabouts.

“Excuse me Snow?” he raises an eyebrow, but the tough look doesn’t work on me, not when I can still see the softness lingering round the edges of his face.

“I mean… why didn’t you come back at the start of the year?” I’m looking down now, I feel embarrassed, though I’m not sure why; I’ve asked Baz much more inappropriate personal questions in the past.

“Don’t you think we have bigger things to worry about right now? Finding ‘Nico’, for example? Defeating the Humdrum? I’d have thought the Chosen One would have more important things to occupy his time than chasing down his roommate. Merlin, you can’t even focus on one right thing. What about your golden girl Snow, where’s she?” Spite seeped into his tone as he spat at me, but somehow, I don’t take it personally for once. I mean, I did just tell him I’d seen his dead mum come back from the dead to give him a message he wasn’t here to hear. I think I’d be a bit pissed as well, to be honest.

“We broke up Baz. I- I’m not her soulmate.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him this. Maybe because he shared something personal (inadvertently, sure, but I feel bad that he wasn’t here to get the message himself).

He stares at me. And for once, it’s Baz that has no words (is this such a surprise to him? It wasn’t a surprise to Penny, and she wasn’t the one flirting with Agatha in the woods at the end of seventh year). He stares for a moment too long, and I start to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, until he suddenly whirls round into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

**BAZ**

This was a new development. The golden girl at Watford, everyone’s fifth year crush, isn’t Snow’s soulmate? I’d known he had a soulmate since second year (he’s awful at keeping anything a secret, it’s a wonder it took me that long to figure it out) and I always assumed it was Wellbelove. Why would they stay together if it wasn’t? It was part of the reason I flirted with her so much in seventh year, to rile Snow up. Though I guess Wellbelove’s apparent disinterest in Snow makes more sense now.

I lean back against the bathroom door and close my eyes. This is too much to take in at once. Crowley, Snow saw my mother and I’m focusing on who his soulmate is. I need to be seriously psychologically evaluated, even I’m concerned for myself. What am I supposed to do with any of this information? Find my mother’s killer, I suppose. I can probably convince Snow to help, feed both my sick obsessions at once. He is involved now, however much I wish he wasn’t. For the millionth time this week, I wish I’d been here.

I shower quickly, and get changed, already dreaming about falling asleep gazing at Snow once again.

**SIMON**

I sleep better than I have since the end of seventh year, all the adrenaline from Baz’s return tiring me out I guess, constantly on the edge waiting for him to launch an attack. So, I’m groggy when I wake up, and it takes me a minute to realise Baz (and Penny?) are gathered round a whiteboard (how did they get a whiteboard up here?), studying the columns: “what we know” and “what we don’t know”- classic Penny.

“And so, he finally awakes,” Baz remarks, without turning around. How the fuck does he do that?

“Bunce is helping me, I assumed correctly that you’d already filled her in on the private details of my mother’s Visit. I expected you to be up before eleven though, didn’t think you were one to miss your disgusting breakfast gorging session.” I ignore him, and focus on sitting up and trying to decipher what they’ve written on the board. So far, it seems like a whole lot in the “what we don’t know” column.

“What exactly, are we trying to work out?” I turn back around on my bed and groan into my pillow. I don’t care if I slept eleven hours, I feel like I have a lifetime of sleep to catch up on. It’s Penny that answers me this time, Baz apparently already viewing me as inconsequential enough to ignore.

“Natasha Pitch’s murderer. She came back from the dead to tell us this Simon, it must be someone important.” At least she looks at me when she speaks, the excitement of a new mystery alight in her eyes. I haven’t seen that look since at least fifth year. The Mage’s missions don’t bring that spark anymore, just horror and dread from us both. Nothing good ever comes from the Mage’s missions.

“You want our help?” I look at Baz in surprise, though he still is studiously ignoring me.

“Of course,” he rolls his eyes now, turning so I can see his face, “Bunce is the best magician in our year, aside from me, of course. And since you’re unfortunately already involved, it saves me having to rope anyone else into this mess.”

“So, we have, kind of a truce?” He raises an eyebrow at me,

“Do you _want_ a truce Snow?”

“No- I- I just think it would be practical. You know, so I know you won’t- kill me at lunch or whatever,” I splutter.

“Fine. No acts of aggression until we’ve sorted this. Deal?” I look at him uncertainly, as Penny looks on, uninterested in our catfight, which I suppose is what it is.

He moves over to me (I’m still in bed, it’s embarrassing) and pulls out his wand. I flinch on instinct and he rolls his eyes again, grabbing my hand.

**“An Englishman’s word is his bond!”**

I’ve never touched Baz before, outside of the daily fist fighting we engaged with in second year. It feels weird. Like sparks flying up my arm, like he set fire to me. Even his magic seems to be out to get me. I pull apart from his grip and shake of my arm, trying to will it to feel normal again. I watch his expression change minutely, as if he felt something too. Good. I’m glad my magic hurt him too (though normally my magic hurts people a lot more than this- I tried to touch Penny once when I was going off, and she says it felt like I was touching her with a red-hot iron).

I decide if I’m going to help Baz of all people, I might as well go all in. So, I pull myself out of bed and go over to help Penny, to see if there’s anything else I can add to the board. Because I guess I didn’t tell Baz everything about his mum’s visit. I’m just hoping the whole ‘your hearts are connected bullshit’ isn’t important for this. Isn’t important at all.

**AGATHA**

I sit on my own now in the dining hall at dinner, though honestly, it’s been a nice break. Simon and Penny both radiate magic, and it becomes exhausting after a while. It’s been nice to enjoy a meal without a pounding headache.

I think that’s one of the reasons it could never have worked with Simon, soulmate or not. He loves magic too much; he lives and breathes it. I could never be that.

It hasn’t stopped me watching them though, from across the room, and it’s this that causes me to first notice it.

Baz and his cronies have started sitting on their table during meals in the last couple of weeks, and I watch them all talk animatedly about some mystery or another. Baz still scares me, if we’re being honest- my parents always told me to be wary of the Pitches. Plus, Simon’s been drilling into me for years about how he’s a vampire, so it’s even more of shock that they’re around each other voluntarily, whatever their mission is.

But something in the way he looks at Simon makes me think maybe he’s not the scary evil vampire we’d created in our heads in fifth year. Of course, it’s masked behind an expression of disgust, of annoyance, but it’s there, deep down. A softness, a willingness- he looks at Simon like he’s saved the world. But not in the awed way most people look at him.

I’m sitting here, trying to work this out, trying to force all the puzzle pieces together the way Penny would, when something else happens. Something that changes the way everything else looks, that creates a whole new outlook on Baz’s every move. Baz pushes his own dinner plate towards Simon, as if he’s finished with it. He does it with a sneer and an eye roll, but the plate is filled with scones. Sour cherry scones.

And suddenly, I’m sitting here on a random Tuesday evening, alone in the dining hall, evaluating all of Baz’s actions from the last eight years, in a completely and totally different light.

It’s three days before I decide to act, three days of examining Baz’s actions, the way he stares at Simon during Magickal History, seeing his gaze as something entirely opposite from the menacing plotting Simon always swore it was.

I know football practice ends at 8 on Fridays, and I also know that Baz is the only one to change in the locker rooms, seeing as everyone else uses the communal showers, whilst he has a private one in his room. It pays to have friends other than Simon and Penny. So, I wait in there for him to come in, feeling perfectly safe in the boys’ changing room. Baz comes in at exactly five past eight, a towel wrapped round his neck as he pushes his hand through his hair, fast strides indicating he’s in a hurry. I wonder what he’s in a hurry to get back to. _Who_ he’s in a hurry to get back to.

“Wellbelove,” he acknowledges me way before I think he’s seen me, nodding his head in my direction as he reaches into his locker for his bag and clothes. Vampire senses, Simon would say. The mirror on the back wall, Penny would counter.

“Basilton.” Despite myself, there’s still a small thrill at using his full name, the girlish crush of only last year not entirely faded, despite everything that happened over the summer. I can just about make out the green and purple tones of his kit as if as if a reminder.

“I trust you have a reason to be snooping around the boys’ changing room?” Always so polite. Always such a Pitch.

“I do. And I think it may interest you, to know what I know.” All business, all professional, I chant.

“Will it now?” he sneers, “Care to enlighten me?” He leans closer to my face now, trying to intimidate me. I swallow.

“I know the truth Basil. I know what he is to you.” A hint of something flashes in his eyes for half a second, before he carefully smooths out his expression again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he straightens up, “And if I were you, Wellbelove, I’d leave the boys’ changing room, before I **“Avada Kedavra”** you.”

“That’s not a real spell,” I lean back against the wall, with my arms crossed, feeling confident I have him cornered.

“You underestimate my powers Wellbelove. It will be your greatest downfall,” he slams his locker shut and goes to walk away from me.

“I know he’s your soulmate!” I call after him. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Have you gone insane Wellbelove? Have all those years of traipsing after Bunce and Snow finally got to your head?” He still isn’t looking at me.

“So, you admit it?”

“Admit what?” He whirls around to meet my gaze, as quick as lightning, his face alight with rage, his eyes flourishing with fear.

“He’s your soulmate.”

“Exactly, who are we talking about here, Wellbelove? Not that it matters, my life still exists in the same dull tones as the rest of us. Though not for you, I seem to have heard.” He’s trying to sound calm and cool. It’s not working.

“Simon Snow. I know he’s your soulmate.” He blinks, and his expression goes blank, as if he wasn’t expecting me to get this right. Everyone underestimates me, I swear to Merlin. Then he starts laughing.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Have you lost your mind? Snow and I are sworn enemies, Crowley, he’s convinced I’m an evil, conniving vampire, what in your right mind thinks he’s my soulmate? What makes you think I even have a soulmate? Aren’t you also under the impression I don’t have a soul?” It’s the most flustered I’ve ever heard Baz, and any doubt left in my mind evaporates.

“It’s okay, Baz,” I start softly, “I already know.” He’s quiet for a long moment, analysing me.

“No one will believe you,” he murmurs, his fists clenched, almost as if he wants to punch me- or himself, “I’ll **Cat got your tongue** you.”

“I never said I would tell anyone.”

“Then why are you here Wellbelove? Don’t you think this is painful enough?” He leans his forehead onto his locker and closes his eyes.

“Because,” I sigh, relaxing my stance and moving slowly towards him. He still has his eyes closed, as if he’s in physical pain, “because, I think you might be his.”

**BAZ**

Stupid fucking Wellbelove. Fucking everything up. I’m sitting in the bathroom, the shower still running though I’ve been out for ages. Snow thinks I take obscenely long showers, but the truth is this is just the only place in the world I can think. Where I’m alone, but Snow isn’t far away. The further I am from him, the worse my migraine gets. Stupid fucking soulmate magic.

I can’t believe I was dense enough to let it slip to _Wellbelove_. That Simon Snow’s ex-girlfriend managed to work this out. How many other people have worked it out? I must be slipping. I should probably care about this more, should probably be plotting some revenge against her, but honestly, I’m just too tired.

She thinks I’m his soulmate. Thinks it makes sense, seeing as it’s someone he touched on his first day of Watford, and unrequited soulmates are so rare. But rare doesn’t mean non-existent, and the universe hasn’t exactly been kind to me thus far. I shouldn’t have heard her out, allowed her to get my hopes up. Snow and I are opposites, we couldn’t be more wrong for each other. I’ve spent eight years convincing myself of that, I’m not about to let Agatha Wellbelove ruin that for me.

I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling, willing myself not to turn over to watch Snow while he’s still awake (because that would be a whole new level of creepy exploitation, I’ve decided), when he says it. As if he knows about my conversation with Wellbelove, as if he’s waited until this specific moment to ask me this because it will cause me the most amount of pain.

“Baz? Do you have a soulmate?” I squeeze my eyes closed and try to ignore him, willing him to leave me alone, trying to push magic into my silence. But I underestimate his persistence,

“I know you’re awake Baz.”

“I’m trying to ignore your idiocy Snow.”

“I thought we were past this?” Oh, how I wish we were.

“Past what? You asking me ridiculous personal questions at inappropriate times? Because apparently not Snow, it’s been a real theme of this relationship.” I still adamantly refuse to look at him, even though I can feel his eyes roaming around my face, as if he owns it. He sighs though, and something twinges in me that he’s no longer angered by my comments, like we’ve lost something, which is absurd.

“I just- thought. I thought you had one.” And my heart twists as my ever-present migraine perseveres and intensifies.

“Don’t you think you’d know if I did, Snow?” I roll over, I don’t want him to see my face soften, into something real, “You spent all of fifth year following me around like a lost puppy, I’d have thought you’d have learnt _something_.”

“That’s why I think you do. The way you react when the blushing cherry blossoms come out on the courtyard in the spring. The careful way I see you dress on weekends and the beginning of term. The awe in your eyes at your own fire magic, that goes beyond that of any normal magician. Makes me think you can see colour. Vividly.” Crowley, he’d noticed all that? I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed off for letting myself be so easily read.

“But if you have a soulmate, why aren’t you with anyone?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“Not everyone’s soulmate is requited, Snow,” I snap back. Why am I letting him know this? Fucking Wellbelove. I’m going to kill her.

“Oh. Yeah,” he whispers, dejectedly, “I think that might be what I’ve got.” And I can’t help it, I ache for him, to hear him so in pain, so beaten down by the world; I reply,

“Maybe they’re just put off by your complete and utter incompetence, and they’ll come forward once you’ve slain the humdrum, or me, or whatever it is you’re expected to do or kill at the end of all this.” Does that count as comfort? I’m counting that as comfort.

“Penny thinks it’s someone that developed it later, after we’d already touched. She’s read more books on it than I have, so I tend to just agree with her. But I don’t know who else in our year has their vision and doesn’t have a boyfriend, so it’s kind of useless. Doesn’t help that the Mage introduced me to so many people that day.” Why is he telling me this? Because we have a truce? Because it’s late? Or because I was right earlier, and he really can tell the exactly time to tell me something when it will hurt me the most? I stay silent, not trusting myself with words right now, and not wanting to give away more than I already have.

“At least it’s both of us, I guess. I hope you find her Baz,” he whispers, before turning over in his bed. I listen until his breathing goes deep and rhythmic before I murmur back,

“I hope he finds me too.”

**SIMON**

“Simon, have you not read any of the books I recommended to you?” We’re sitting in our corner of the library (Penny drags me in here so much we now have a private corner no one dares to come near. Though some of that may be due to my magic, actually) and trying to work out who my soulmate is. Again. It’s not like I mean to be unhelpful, I just have a lot going on right now, though Penny would argue that that’s my excuse for everything. Which I guess it is. But only because it’s always true.

“I started one of them?”

“Really Si, I don’t know how you expect to find your soulmate if you don’t first understand soulmate magic.”

“I don’t think it’s about understanding Penny, I think it’s, like, aren’t I just supposed to, I don’t know, feel it?”

“Apparently so, but you’re also meant to feel it when you meet, and since there’s been no luck on that front, we have no choice but to turn to alternative measures.”

“You use everything as an excuse to get me to read more,” I mumble under my breath, not wanting to get into more trouble with Penny. I look up from the piles of books and see Baz strolling over, walking as if he owns the entire library.

“Is it three already?” Penny asks, fumbling to get even more books out. Great.

“I believe so Bunce, else I wouldn’t be here. Believe me, I don’t want to be spending my Saturday evenings with the Magelings, I do have better things to do,” he sits down opposite us, and pulls an enormous book out of his bag. I swear, since we started working with Baz, I’ve only become outnumbered. I miss Agatha.

“Right,” Penny slams her hands down on the table to grab my attention, diverting me from wondering why Baz had pushed his hair back like that, “to sum up Simon- before we move onto other things- I want you to focus on how it feels to touch any of our potential suspects. Just a gentle hand brush will do, don’t go around feeling up all the girls in our year. You should be able to feel it, with your soulmate, you should be able to feel something, know it’s them.”

“Wait- we can feel our soulmate?” This was news to me. Penny groans.

“Do you not listen to a single thing? Yes, most mages report feeling shivers or sparks when touching their soulmate, though some even go as far as to describe fire ripping down their appendages.” Why does this sound so familiar? I suppose, because I must have touched my soulmate at some point, in order to get my vision in the first place. But there’s something else.

Penny starts getting out her notes about Baz’s mum. I look over at him- he’s fiddling studiously with the edges of his book, refusing to meet my eye.

**BAZ**

I get back to our room before Snow- he stayed behind to walk Bunce to her room, and probably slander my family name. I sit on my bed and review my notes from today- we’re still no closer to figuring out who Nico is, but at least the two strongest magicians are working on it. And Snow. It’s easier (and harder) to concentrate when he’s there.

That being said, I almost jump out of my skin when he bursts into the room, as if something is on fire. I jump off of my bed to square up against him,

“Crowley Snow!” Most people say they can get uncomfortable by Snow’s arrival, and feel it metres away, his magic making them nauseous, but it’s easier for him to sneak up on me. Ironically, with my heightened senses.

“I-I just- I need-” he stammers, eyes darting around the room.

“Use your words Snow. Merlin, you’d think the chosen one would be better at that by now, seeing as it’s the one thing needed to cast a spell.” His eyes finally land on me, burning into my retinas. His hands curl into fists and he starts towards me from the doorway.

He’s going to punch me. Right here, in the middle of our room. I don’t think I have the ability to fight back. I should yell “Anathema!” remind him of what he’s doing, but the closer he gets to me, the more incapable I become of speech. This is it. This is where I die. No dramatic, final battle, but here, on a rainy Saturday night in November, Snow’s blue eyes piercing into my soul.

Just as I close my eyes, preparing for the blow that will tear my whole world apart, my hands light on fire. No. I open my eyes and look down. Snow’s grabbed my hands? I look up at him, and his eyes are locked on our conjoined hands. I should kiss him now, go out with a bang. Let myself have this. A final moment of weakness, of messy perfection.

And then _he_ kisses _me_.

**SIMON**

My whole body is alight. I’m aware of every single part, of every single vein, cell and hair. Because I’m kissing Baz Pitch.

Fucking finally.

Colour may bring beauty to the world, but Baz brings it to life.

There’s a split second where I think I’ve got it wrong, where I’m kissing him but he isn’t kissing me. But then I feel him melt. His arms wrap around me, and I push my hand through his hair. I’ve always wanted to know how that would feel.

After a couple of minutes we’re both gasping for breath, but I refuse to let him go. I never want to go another second without Baz Pitch. He brings watercolour paints to life.

“How long?” I rest my forehead against his as our breaths mix together.

“Always. It’s always been you, Simon.” And I’m kissing him again.

I don’t know how long we go on like that- could have been hours, could have been days (though based on the changing light outside, it probably wasn’t that long. But you get the picture). It’s about 3am, and we’re wrapped in each other’s’ arms, on that teetering brink between consciousness and dreamland, when he whispers,

“When did you figure it out?” he pushes a stray curl off my forehead, and I struggle to remember what he asked me.

“Penny was determined I’d work it out,” I shrug, “And something she said earlier stuck with me. About how it felt to touch you. And I remembered, even in second year when we’d beat each other up every other day, there was something drawing me towards you. I took a walk, after we were done in the library, and I had, I don’t know what’s that long word you used earlier, epipany?”

“Epiphany,” he corrects.

“Yeah, that. I feel smug though, that I worked it out before Penny.”

“Bunce doesn’t know?” he asks in surprise, his hand stopping from where it had been sketching soothing circles into my arm.

“No? I didn’t- as soon as I realised, I just wanted to come back to you.” I gaze into his grey eyes, the only piece of grey left in my life, and the only piece of grey I could ever want. "Watford didn’t feel the same without you,” I murmur, my finger tracing along his lip until he shivers. He catches my finger and kisses it, before replying,

“You saved me Simon,” I get a thrill every time he uses my first name, “before… before eighth year started, I was,” he sighs, and it’s strange to see Baz so flustered, so scared to admit something. I push his hair out of his eyes so I can look at him, silently reassuring him, “I was kidnapped. By fucking numpties of all things. And as I was trapped in the dark, remembering you- your eyes, your skin, your hair,” he pulls on one of my curls, trying to lighten the tone, before turning serious again, “I don’t think I’d have survived without you. You’ve saved the world countless times Snow, but you saved me when you were born.”

I catch his lips again with mine, and kiss him until my lips are sore.

**BAZ**

I wake long before Snow does, the feeling of him in my arms rousing me from sleep after only a few hours. It feels impossible. Impossible that I should be allowed this. I try not to watch him though, and trace patterns on his bare arms to pass the time instead.

It’s nearing ten o’clock when Bunce suddenly bursts into the room, strangely reminiscent of Snow’s behaviour not twelve hours before. She’s a hurricane of books and paper, whirling straight towards Snow’s desk, not even noticing us wrapped up together. Snow pushes himself up slightly on his arm, making some noncommittal noise of annoyance at having being woken up, and I have to suppress a grin.

“Morning boys. I found some more books I thought we could use. Oh, and Simon I-” she stops as she turns around and sees us, her mouth hanging open.

“Might I suggest you knock before entering a room, Bunce? Especially one you’re not supposed to be in anyway,” I remark, as politely and formally as I can with my new boyfriend tangled in my arms, and my hair embarrassingly dishevelled.

“ _You!_ Of course! I’m so stupid!” she hits her hand against her head in frustration, clearly annoyed at her own ineptitude. I roll my eyes, and Snow sits up slightly.

“Who else knows? How long have you known?” she barks at us, and Snow groans and falls back onto my pillow. I try not to laugh.

“This is a relatively new development Bunce; I’m honestly surprised you didn’t work it out. Wellbelove did.”

“AGATHA? _Agatha_ worked it out and I didn’t?”

“Agatha knows?” Snow mumbles, his face pressed into the pillow as he edges away from consciousness.

“Only recently. She hasn’t told anyone, that I know of. She knows what I’d do if she did,” I murmur, only to Snow, pushing a curl away from his face.

Bunce sits down; she looks a little green.

“Well,” she sighs, “I suppose we better get on with the notes I brought.” It’s all business with Bunce. I admire it.

“I should probably have a shower if Penny’s going to grill me this early,” Snow sits up properly this time, rubbing his eyes. The morning light hits his hair beautifully, creating a gorgeous shade of golden brown, that I won’t stop thinking about for the rest of the morning.

“Go on then. Carry on Simon.”


End file.
